Jassi reached Baba Zaid’s home early the next morning. He was a simple man with an ordinary lifestyle. Jassi looked around the modest living room as he waited for Baba Zaid to join him. It contained basic furniture to seat six guests. But everything was maintained neatly and spotlessly. A few pairs of slippers were placed at the entrance which implied that all visitors had to remove their shoes before entering the living room. Baba Zaid walked into the room a few minutes after Jassi’s arrival and after exchanging pleasantries came straight to the point. After listening to him patiently, Baba Zaid stood up from the cot and went inside the bedroom. A little later, he emerged with a register in his hand and sat at the same spot. Flipping through the pages, his frail and aged forefinger stopped at a serial number against which the name Sakhiullah Syed was written.

He opened the corresponding page but the ink had faded to such an extent that nothing could be made out. Jassi copied whatever telephone numbers he could on a piece of paper, thanked the old man profusely and left in a hurry. After reaching home, he shared his findings with Manjit. The two brothers sat down across the table and began dialling every number on the list. The exercise brought disappointment on their faces at regular intervals. Not letting this dishearten them, the brothers kept talking to strangers and left messages where they couldn’t communicate with the concerned person. On the fourth day, a gentleman by the name of Farhat Zaid called back.

‘Hello,’ he said and, without exchanging greetings, added, ‘Qasim Zaid now lives in Swat. He is quite a well-known personality. Both the brothers have retired. Their children are now in command. So you’ll find them at home most of the time. They would be very happy to meet you.’ Manjit didn’t get an opportunity to thank Farhat as he disconnected the line after delivering the message. He handed over the piece of paper on which he had scribbled the information to Jassi and told him how to take it forward.

The next day, Jassi drove for over four hours to Swat district. It was a picturesque, touristy hill station. He was welcomed by an unpolluted, cool breeze which was a pleasant change from the polluted city air he was used to. After making a few inquiries at roadside shops, he made his way to the address he had been given by Farhat. On reaching the house, he disembarked from his bike, stretched his back and looked around. It was a large, spacious and well-maintained house that was built like a haveli. A few cows were tied in the vacant plot on the left due to which the whole area smelt of cow dung. Not too far away, a caretaker was sprawled on a cot. A long wooden stick lay beside him.